Riot
by Strawberrywaltz
Summary: The trick in taking out a target at close-range in a riot is getting it done before things get out of hand. It also helps to plan for a riot. Clint-whump/Clintasha
1. Chapter 1

_Summery: The trick in taking out a target at close-range in a riot is getting it done before things get out of hand. It also helps to plan for a riot. Clint-whump_

_So it took a little longer then I thought to get my next story out…lol. Leave the Lights On is currently being edited by the amazing Susan M. M Chapter 2 has been fixed up ^^ check it out if you have the time! We'll get through the other chapters as life goes on…hehe_

_I have two other Avenger stories in the works, but this one popped into my head and wouldn't let me go…so it ended up coming out first. _

_Hope you guys enjoy it!_

* * *

Take Me to the Riot

It was packed out on the cobblestone streets of the city's town square. People shouted in unison back and forth, rallying together towards a common goal. It was some sort of protest in progress and Clint's target had decided to walk straight through it.

Cold grey clouds hung low in the sky overhead, accompanied by the bite of a sharp wind. None of the citizens paid any mind to the weather – they were as focused as Clint with their objective.

The situation was fine with Clint, even when someone's elbow shot back into his ribs. The agent let a grunt escape his lips as he glared, but didn't take his eyes off the back his target's head as they moved steadily through the growing mass of people.

In several ways this would make the hit easier. Chaos was a good way to mask a hit. The cops would more than likely assume the man got caught on the bad end of a knife and with so many suspects an assassination would be overlooked.

"_Hawkeye, how's the vantage_?" Natasha's voice sounded in his ear. Her voice hinted towards smugness – probably grateful that she was the one that got to watch things unfold from a safe distance this time. Especially under these circumstances – Natasha was badass and could handle herself in a fight, but even Clint would be in trouble if things went to hell with this many bodies.

The street was thick with angry people who screamed at and pushed one another. Some – like Clint and his target – hadn't planned on being part of the assembly. They walked against the crowd to find a way out of the growing violence.

"Shaky, but I still have Conroy in my sights." Clint answered before someone shoved him from behind. The momentum sent Clint into the chest of a red-faced man twice his side. "Crap." Clint hissed before he ducked out of the way of a meaty fist. Using his natural born agility Clint weaved his way out of the mini brawl that had formed in his wake.

"_The riot appears to be escalating_." Natasha unhelpfully informed her partner.

Clint glared in her general direction. "No shit, Sherlock."

The target, Dr. Charles Conroy, reminded Clint of Bruce in a few ways. Conroy was a skittish, thin scientist that looked breakable – just like Banner. The one big difference between the two men – overlooking the whole 'rage monster' split personality thing Bruce had going for him – was that Conroy was pure evil.

The scientist spent his days and nights in a secret lab developing bio-chemical weapons. Just the concept of some of the mixtures made Clint's skin crawl. While Clint and Natasha took out the scientist, Bruce and Steve would secure and begin to clean out Conroy's lab.

Due to the stealth nature of the mission Thor and Tony were held back 'on call' at the Avenger's tower. Bruce was joining the SHIELD agents only because of his scientific background and Steve would act as the doctor's backup.

Dr. Charles Conroy needed to be put down and Fury had asked his best SHIELD agents to see to it. Although not in their typical style – the hit was too be close range instead of distance.

The hit needed to be subtle, Natasha was always too memorable, but Clint was the master of invisibility. He'd be just another face in the crowd when this thing was over.

Like a shadow Clint pushed through the crowd and closed in on Conroy. If things were to break out into chaos he'd make his move, finish the job and get out of danger as soon as humanly possible.

"_Clint_." Natasha's voice warned in his ear.

"Yeah, I see it." Clint mumbled back. A roar rose up from the masses, things were about to get out of hand – this needed to be finished now. "Moving in."

Clint subtly tugged on a glove and slipped his hand in his leather jacket to pull out a knife as he moved forward to close the small gap between him and Conroy. The knife was coated with planted prints of a local drug lord – courtesy of Natasha's charming abilities.

If the police did look into the gutted man the drug lord would go down for the murder. Or at least enough evidence would be linked to the drug lord to start an intense investigation that would bring forth evidence of his other shady dealings. Either way, it would be a win, win situation.

As Clint moved in for the kill, Dr. Charles Conroy turned and faced his pursuer. A second too slow Barton noticed the glint of intent in the doctor's eyes and the dangerous flash of silver in the doctor's hand. Another knife was suddenly in play.

It was impossible to move freely in the crowd, impossible even for a man like Clint to avoid the short blade completely. In the shifting crowd the scientist made quick work of his knife. As Clint efficiently gutted his target the scientist slipped his own silver blade into Clint's side.

"I will not die alone." Conroy smiled cruelly. Both men were pushed further into one other as the riot erupted with renewed force around them.

"Damn it." Clint cursed softly at the quick change of events. It didn't hurt at first, but Barton was aware the pain would catch up with him soon enough. Lucky for Clint the scientist hadn't aimed for an artery or even anything vital – unlucky for Clint the movements of the crowd made it impossible to free himself from the danger of the blade. If Conroy wanted to, he could go for a second hit with the knife.

The scientist laughed into Clint's face, a wicked smile twisted on the man's thin lips. "I will die fast, I can feel it, but you – you will suffer greatly before you meet your end."

It seemed like a promise as the color of life drained from the doctor's face and the blood poured out of his body.

The crowd shifted again and Clint was ripped away from the scientist. A last minute thought left Barton barely able to grab the hilt knife in his side before he started to look for a way out of the riot. With a grunt Clint pulled the blade free and slipped it into his hidden sheath – something about the dying doctor's words made him believe he'd need the knife later.

It wasn't exactly the best idea to pull the blade out, but if Barton kept the knife in his side one of the rioters might accidentally gut him – and then he'd be dead. Losing a bit of blood seemed like the better option.

"_Status? I've lost visual on your location_." Natasha's frustrated voice chimed in Clint's ears. "_What's happening?_"

"Target down." Clint announced to his partner through gritted teeth. A deep wince echoed in Barton's features as he pressed one hand against his bloody wound.

There was a short pause before Natasha gave a response. "_Why does it sound like something went wrong_?"

"I got him." Clint assured her with a grumble over the connection. His side burned as he moved through the angry rioters. Every step he took felt like a red-hot branding stick was being shoved into his side. Elbows, fists and full bodies made contact with the archer as he made his way through the crowd. Clint's focus was to get free of the mass of people as fast as possible – things would only get worse in this situation. "But, he might have gotten me too."

"_What?_" Natasha barked loudly.

"Knife." Clint grunted when his body got caught in between a tight group of people. They pushed together and crushed the archer's body in the middle of their circle. With a sudden shift in direction Clint was unable to keep his feet underneath him. Though Clint struggled to stay vertical he hit the ground hard. Boot clad feet made contact with Clint's body as he fought to recover from the devastating fall.

"Crap, damn it. Nat, I need an exit." Clint barely avoided a foot aimed at his head and quickly started to grab at whatever he could to climb back his feet.

"_I still don't have a visual_." Natasha sounded strained. "_Where are you_?"

Once firmly back on his feet, Clint automatically rolled his eyes at his partner's words. "What do you want me to do? Wave my arms around?"

"_If you think it will help_." The Widow shot back, voice hard with tension.

This was the down side of taking down a target in a crowded space. Riots were violent and quickly got out of hand – it was important to get out of the chaos as quickly as possible or you ran the risk of becoming a casualty.

With a firm hold on his side Barton pushed through the people that surrounded him on a blind search for a way to slip out of the chaos. He headed towards the nearest building in sight – it might be further away from his partner, but right now he just needed to get somewhere safe.

"I'm headed, uh," Clint flinched when something sharp hit the right side of his head. "North-East."

"_Negative, local justice is flooding in from that direction. Head South-West_." Natasha rushed her response. "_Copy?_"

"Crap. Copy."

The rhythmic pop of gunfire opened up on the crowd. In this country the police didn't appreciate protesters freedom. Screams followed and more panicked movement shifted through the crowd. It was a small area that was too packed with too many people moving all at the same time.

It was like Clint was stuck in the ocean, with strong currents and heavy waves pushing and pulling at his body this way and that. The movements were crushing and it felt like he was drowning in the sea of people. Clint wasn't claustrophobic by any stretch of the word, but everything felt too close together. He needed room to think, fight and _move_. Even for someone as focused as Clint it was hard to keep the growing panic under control.

"_Clint, there's going to be a stampede_." Natasha warned – Clint nodded. He had seen it coming. Smoke bombs went off tainting the air with a thick cloud of grey – teargas would be sure to follow.

Quickly Clint pulled his shirt up to cover his nose and shoved through any gaps he could see between bodies to get free from the crowd. His eyes burned when a cloud of something – probably teargas – fell over him.

His eyes burned instantly at the irritation and a cough built up in Clint's chest as he forced his already battered body onward.

Widespread panic erupted when a large explosion sounded somewhere North and the stampede started.

With gunfire the people in the chaos hadn't known which way to run to escape it. With the explosion the direction to flee was clear – everyone headed in the opposite direction of the immediate danger.

The current of people washed Clint away. He struggled to stay vertical and on top of the movements – keeping pace with the others.

"_Clint_?" Natasha's voice sounded in his ear – worried. "_Are you free of the crowd?_"

"Not quite." Clint gasped out, eyes burned and blurred with tears produced as a result of the teargas. He'd given up his fight with the masses and allowed himself to be dragged along. Eventually, he hoped, there would be an opening to slip away in.

"_Status_?"

"Alive." The pain spiked in his side and Clint groaned. "For now."

"_This isn't the time to joke around, Hawkeye._" His partner scolded.

"It's always time to joke around." Clint grinned just before he slipped and was shoved into a brick wall. "Sometimes you have to grit your teeth and laugh in the face of danger."

"_How about you grit your teeth and get the hell out of there_?" The Widow growled back.

"Working on it." He saw an alleyway and went for it, crawling and pushing through the bodies to get to safety. Clint reached for the opening only for it to be ripped out of his fingertips.

"Crap, crap, crap." The archer hissed as the alleyway was blocked from his vision and his feet left the ground again.

Someone's shoulder shoved into his chest, winding Clint as his heart went wild in his chest.

"_Hawkeye, what's happening?_"

A desperate inhalation of air tainted with teargas and smoke sent Clint into a violent coughing fit. When his feet found perches on the ground once again he dove in the direction he'd last seen the alleyway.

The risky and costly move got him close to his goal. Clint crawled army style the rest of the way, ignoring the sharp feet trampling over him. It was painful, but he was finally free. Rolling on the ground Barton moved further into safety.

"_Hawkeye, Hawkeye come in._" Natasha yelled into the comm. link. Clint doubted she had stopped calling for an answer during his ordeal, but he had been a bit distracted.

"Take a breath, Black Widow, I'm out."

Natasha allowed a sigh to escape her lips – it sounded like relief to Clint, but it could have been frustration over the situation. "_What's your condition?_"

"Not great." Clint didn't downplay it – he had been nearly crushed in the crowd and stepped on countless times. His ribs were definitely badly bruised, someone had stepped solidly on his right wrist and his knee felt sprained from someone kicking it just right. Clint's whole body felt like one giant bruise, but thankfully nothing appeared to be broken. "I have a brand new appreciation for the ground. Almost feel bad for walking on it."

His eyes and lungs were suffering from the teargas, burning. Clint's eyes were nearly blind with tears.

It was his side that worried him. The wound itself was small, but fairly deep and bleeding openly. The pain didn't feel right either. Clint had been stabbed before, this felt different – wrong.

Conroy's word's replayed in Clint's mind,_ 'I will die fast, I can feel it, but you – you will suffer greatly before you meet your end.'_

That didn't sound promising.

"Hey Widow," Clint breathed out, voice pained as he held his side and leaned heavily against the brick wall behind him.

"I might be in trouble."

* * *

_So, what did you think?_

_I wrote this while extremely distracted by the Olympics...which have been Amazing. If you haven't been watching you should! _

_Thanks for reading! _


	2. Chapter 2

_Special shout out to all those who reviewed for the first chapter! You guys make my day happy!_

* * *

Riot part two

Natasha was less than thrilled when Director Fury decided to switch their team's key roles. Barton was better at being the distant protector of the group. The ex-carnie could climb up walls, run along rooftops, fly from building to building and he would never missed a step and _never_ lose sight of his target – or her. Clint's aim was as true as his heart and Natasha trusted him to have her back.

As she made her way across the cities skyline, sniper rifle strapped to her back, the Black Widow gained a new appreciation for Hawkeye's unique set of skills. Natasha's strengths were in being noticed. With her silver tongue the Black Widow could charm her way into any situation, manipulate to get whatever she wanted and kill who ever she aimed to kill.

Natasha was the flash and decoration – Clint was the explosion.

Sure Barton could act and charm when the mission required it, but it wasn't his strong suit. He'd rather let his bow and arrows do the talking – or whatever weapon he had at hand. Clint preferred to work from a distance, while Natasha liked to get up close and personal with the enemy.

It wasn't like Clint couldn't handle himself in close combat, he could, but this target seemed to be determined to lose his shadow in the crowded town square. Of course that was assuming that Conroy was aware that he was being followed. Natasha silently suspected he did, but couldn't confirm her suspicions.

Natasha struggled to keep up with the target and her partner as they moved through the city. Her eyes constantly shifted between her next few steps and Clint's current location. Natasha would have felt more comfortable if she were on the ground and Barton was watching from afar.

When they entered the square Natasha found a perch and swung her sniper rifle around to follow the only two people in the mob that mattered through it's scope.

The assembly was packed with angry people who pushed and shoved one another. It appeared as if there were two opposing groups of people in the crowd, though Natasha didn't really care beyond the danger it presented to her partner.

Natasha wasn't a fan of not being able to move, she needed space to work. It was probably for the best that she was the back up in this situation.

"Hawkeye, how's the vantage?" Natasha let a little bit of smugness leak into her voice as she communicated with her partner. She knew he'd be frustrated with the situation down on the street and most likely wanted to complete the hit as quickly as possible.

"_Shaky, but I still have Conroy in my sights_." Barton replied over the comm. system. Just after he finished his sentence, Clint was shoved into the chest of a large man who looked like a miniature – less green – version of the hulk. Natasha winced as she watched Barton duck out of the way of a heavy fist. The man struck another bystander and a violent fight started. Thankfully Clint had woven away before he could get sucked into it.

"Thing's seem to be escalating," she told him, masking her worry with sarcasm.

"_No shit, Sherlock_." When he glared up at her Natasha raised an eyebrow. Even in this situation, Barton had managed to keep track of where she was. His ability to see everything at once astounded her.

They fell silent as Clint moved forward and around different obstacles to get to his moving target.

The person that appeared to be orchestrating the protest against a second group of people screamed something in a mega phone that caused the mob to roar in response. They were furious and only getting angrier. While Natasha had no clue what was happening with the mob, she did know that things were quickly getting out of hand.

"Clint." She said his name as a warning.

"_I see it_," Clint responded on cue. "_Moving in_."

Of course he saw it. The Amazing Hawkeye saw everything – Natasha rolled her eyes.

She regretted the action immediately.

When Natasha's eyes focused back down on the crowd, Clint was out of sight, Conroy was no where to be seen and the people were in a state of complete chaos. Fists were flying. Individuals were being crushed in between groups of people being shoved together. Finding one specific person in the masses went from being hard to practically impossible.

Natasha's heart skipped a beat and her next breath became trapped in her throat as a wave of panic washed over her. She scanned the crowd and tried to see everything at once – like her partner could.

But the thing was, she wasn't Barton.

Reclaiming control of her emotions Natasha found her voice once more. "Status? I've lost visual on your location." The anger she felt towards herself caused her voice to be sharp with tension. "What's happening?"

"_Target down_." Barton said within the next beat. The sound of his voice was wrong to Natasha's trained ears – tight and strained – like he was in pain.

"Why does it sound like something went wrong?" She accused harshly over the line. Natasha never stopped looking for her partner in the crowd, but Barton was no where in sight. It didn't help that Clint had dressed in plain dark clothing. He looked like everyone else out in the mob.

Natasha was frustrated.

"_I got him_." Clint grumbled back into Natasha's ear, as if she had questioned his ability to do his job. A short pause of silence followed – not complete silence, there was the sound of Barton's harsh breathing to keep her company. Her muscles tensed as she waited for him to confirm her suspicions. "_But, he might have gotten me too._"

Natasha's glared so hard her eyes hurt. "What?" She demanded, needing more information. How severe was the wound? No, right now they needed to get Clint out of there.

"_Knife._" Clint gasped out before grunting loudly. It sounded like he fell – Natasha hoped he was still on his feet. It could be deadly falling in a crowd like this. "_Crap, damn it. Nat, I need an exit_."

If Barton used her name during a mission it was good sign to Natasha that things were dire. The Widow's heart beat faster as she frantically searched the crowd without the help of her scope. "I still don't have a visual." Natasha swung her rifle back behind her on it's strap as she leaned over the balcony to get a better look at the crowd below. "Where are you?"

"_What do you want me to do? Wave my arms around?_" Clint demanded.

Behind Natasha's frustration she felt a stab of guilt. If she hadn't rolled her eyes before she would still know where her partner was. Her stupid mistake might cost Clint his life. It took all of her strength to speak again, voice slow and steady. "If you think it will help." Her tone was as hard as stone – anger helped her keep focus on the situation.

There was a short pause before Barton spoke again. "_I'm headed, uh_ – " Clint was cut off with a small cry. Must have been hit by someone down there, Natasha winced in sympathy and held her breath in anticipation – would he recover? Was he down for good? "_North-East_." Barton finished and at the sound of his voice Natasha allowed herself to breathe easy once more.

Quickly Natasha looked in his general direction. Just as she looked over, Natasha's eyes caught sight of men dressed in uniform starting to flood into the square, sirens and cars creating a barricade.

"Negative, local justice is flooding in from that direction. Head South-West." She informed her partner. Cops in these situations tended to make things more violent. "Copy?"

"_Crap_." Clint cursed under his breath. "_Copy_."

As Natasha had predicted the cops opened fire onto the crowd. Shooting people at random. Screams erupted and panic like a wave spread out over the crowd.

This was not good – not at all.

People scrambled, no longer fighting one another but fighting to leave the square – to get somewhere safe. Clint was down there in the middle of that chaos. Clint was in serious danger and all Natasha could do was watch.

"Clint, there's going to be a stampede." Natasha warned sharply. She felt weak in the knees as she pushed away from the balcony. She needed to head South-West, she had to get to her partner.

From the corner of her eyes she saw things escalating further. Smoke bombs were thrown into the crowd filling the air with thick heavy clouds of grey. More gunfire, more screams and then finally a violent explosion.

The force of the blast shook the foundation of the building Natasha was in. It knocked her into a wall but she managed to keep her feet solidly on the ground. With her ears ringing and a growl of frustration Natasha moved forward again, swiftly and calmly heading in the direction of her hawk.

The current of people down on the streets rushed towards different exits to escape the town square. Bodies were pulled along within the thick masses and those unable to keep up disappeared under feet – lost.

Natasha's breath caught again as she pictured her partner under the chaos. "Clint? Are you free of the crowd?" The assassin paused as she waited impatiently for her partner's response.

"_Not quite_." Barton responded breathlessly – Natasha's heart dropped.

"Status?" She demanded sharply. Pushing herself once again in the direction her partner was supposed to be heading.

"_Alive._"

Sometimes Natasha's partner's attempts at humor really pissed her off. "This isn't the time to joke around, Hawkeye." She hissed over the comm.

In her mind she could picture him smiling. "_It's always time to joke around_." Clint responded, then grunted loudly when his body met something solid enough that the dull thud could be heard over the link. "_Sometimes you have to grit your teeth and laugh in the face of danger_."

"Howabout you grit your teeth and get the hell out of there?" Natasha shot back angrily. She wanted him to be safe and he was wasting time and energy with bad humor. At least he was talking again, she decided. Natasha would know he was alive as long as he was still talking.

"_Working on it_." Her partner promised her. There was a spark of hope in his voice, it echoed within Natasha's soul.

As quickly as it came, the hope was ripped away.

"_Crap, crap, crap._" Barton's cursing made her heart leap and her balance falter as she navigated a thin ledge to get across a street without getting caught up in the flood below.

"Hawkeye, what's happening?" Natasha asked when she got her balance back, gripping a wall as she waited for his response.

A terrible cough was her only reply. "Clint? Hawkeye!" Natasha slammed her fist into the brick wall next to her as she waited for a response, a word, anything to tell her he was still alive. In her mind Natasha pictured Clint being trampled under the stampede. Was she listening to her partner dying? "Hawkeye!"

Her heart ached painfully in her chest as she lowered herself on the ledge and waited. "Hawkeye, Hawkeye, come in." She hated how she screamed his name, but he was scaring her. Natasha – the big bad Black Widow was scared.

"_Take a breath, Black Widow, I'm out._"

Natasha let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Relief filled her, but she realized Clint wasn't out of the woods yet. He was injured and stubbornly hadn't told her how bad the injury was. "What's your condition?"

"_Not great._" Barton admitted, which told Natasha it was serious. "_I have a brand new appreciation for the ground. Almost feel bad for walking on it_."

Slowly Natasha pushed herself back up to her feet. She needed to get to her partner. If she read his joke correctly he had been trampled at some point during the stampede. Natasha was about to ask where he was when Clint spoke again.

"_Hey Widow_?" His voice audibly trembled.

Natasha's heart clenched tightly in her chest as Clint continued.

"_I might be in trouble_."

Closing her eyes, Natasha took in a calming breath and let it out slowly. "Hold on," her eyes snapped open with new determination. "I'm on my way."

* * *

_I hope this wasn't boring for you guys ^^ I felt compelled to write things from Natasha's prospective before moving along with the story. _

_Thanks so much for the support! I love you guys! _


	3. Chapter 3

_Special thanks to all those who reviewed for the last chapter! _

* * *

Riot Part Three

* * *

Clint hated teargas.

It messed with his vision.

And Clint truly _hated_ anything that messed with his vision.

Huddled in the back of the alleyway, Clint kept a hand pressed deep into his still bleeding side. It hurt, but the pain felt wrong. It was like he was being consumed from the inside by cold fire. Ice creeping in and replacing the warm blood pumping in his veins.

The temperature the weather provided was chilly, but Barton knew he shouldn't have lost so much body heat over such a short stretch of time.

A shiver ran through the archer's body as he closed his tear-blurred eyes. The warm salty mixture felt like fire dripping down his face. The irritation his eyes had suffered had produced the tears, in a way Barton was happy – the quicker his eyes were flushed the sooner he'd be able to see again.

Clint's ears were still ringing from the overload of noises the riot brought. The screaming, the explosion, the gunfire had all been _loud_ – it seemed wrong how quiet things were now. Almost silent.

The riot had calmed down, most of the participants had run off or lay dead out on the streets. The cops were making sweeps and Clint knew it would be dangerous if he was found, but he was confident that his partner would find him first.

"_Hawkeye_?" Nat asked, voice breathy as she continued her search for him.

"Still here." Clint sighed out the words, head back against the brick wall supporting him.

"_Good_." Natasha kept her voice even. Clint knew she was concerned even if she didn't allow herself to show it. "_Do you have an idea of where you are? I'm close._"

"Uh, an alleyway?" Barton responded unhelpfully. "I can't really see right now."

"_Teargas_?"

"Yep." Clint clipped his response as another shiver trembled through his body. "God its cold."

"_Where are you hit_?" Natasha demanded – not for the first time.

With a grunt Clint decided it was time to come clean with his worried partner. "Side, he got me with a knife. I think it might have been poisoned – the wound – it feels wrong."

"_I'm coming_." Natasha repeated, falling silent once more.

"I know." Barton acknowledged, as another violent shiver ran through him.

Footsteps at the mouth of the alleyway had Clint opening his useless eyes. "Nat." He whispered, waiting for confirmation without moving.

"_Clint_?" Natasha asked in his ear.

"Crap." Barton grumbled, staring up at two blurry figures as they found his hiding spot. "Good evening officers." Clint greeted weakly with a half wave. In his condition, Barton knew it wouldn't be smart to take on two armed police officers. Clint's knee was sprained, wrist deeply bruised, side stabbed, blind with poison probably running through his system. No, it would not be a good idea to fight.

"_Crap_." Natasha acknowledged the situation her partner was in. "_Don't try to fight them, I'll find you_."

"Might want to hurry up with that." Barton mumbled in response, but obeyed. The more he moved the more the poison would spread and the less likely it would be that he survived this one. His best bet at survival would be to remain as still as possible. He'd already screwed himself over trying to get free of the stampede.

"Stand." One of the men barked the order, leveling a gun at Clint.

"Okay, no need to make this personal." Barton groaned, pushing himself up with one hand as his other remained firmly on his side.

One of the men checked him for weapons, easily finding the bloody knife. "Well, what do we have here?"

Barton couldn't see, but he knew what the man was holding – he also wanted it back. Whatever was on that knife could be dangerous, especially to the guy stabbed with it.

"That looks like a weapon." The second officer said, jabbing the end of his gun into Barton's chest. "Looks to me like we've located one of those pesky rebels that started this terrible situation." Clint could hear the smirk in the man's voice. "Maybe even the son of a bitch that set off that bomb earlier."

"I agree." The first officer replied, reaching behind himself to pull out a pair of silver handcuffs. "Turn around, hands behind your back."

With a frustrated sigh Barton turned to do as told, "I'm a victim here."

"Yeah, not the way we see it." The first officer told the archer with a smirk, securing the cuffs a bit tighter then necessary. "Move." Came the command and the officer pulled Clint back roughly then unceremoniously pushed him forward, electing a hiss from the injured man.

"_Hawkeye_?" Natasha called over the link. "_I don't think I'm going to find you in time_."

"I know." Barton responded weakly as his eyes blinked at the blurry world around him.

"_But we will find you_." Natasha promised.

"I know."

"Shut it," Officer number two demanded, slamming the butt end of his gun into Clint's head.

The darkness claimed Clint's mind as his partner screamed his name.

* * *

"Clint!" Natasha yelled for the third time. No response. She had listened to what happened but her mind wouldn't accept it. "Damn it." Her partner was gone, in the hands of hostile strangers and it was all her fault.

Clint would either be taken directly to the local police station and interrogated or dropped off at the local hospital – to later be interrogated. Natasha was leaning more towards the first scenario, these guys didn't seem like the type to care about their prisoner's health.

She had no choice but to retreat for now. Regroup and plan.

"Shit." The Russian cursed and pulled out her cell phone, clicked a few buttons and pressed the device to her ear.

Two rings and Steve answered.

"Captain, we have a problem." She announced, taking charge of the situation. Natasha pushed all her worry away and replaced it with determination. Personal emotions would only put Clint in more danger than he already was.

"_I was about to call you," _Steve's calm voice replied_. "We ran into a problem. Is Dr. Conroy still alive_?"

"No, the target is down." Natasha rushed, she wanted to get to the point – Barton was in trouble.

"_Crap_." Steve's curse stole her attention.

"Why?" The Black Widow demanded.

"_This place is wired. We don't have the techno-knowledge to step through the front door without blowing ourselves sky high_." Steve sighed, sounding resigned. "_I think we're going to have to call Stark_."

"Barton doesn't have that kind of time." Natasha growled back over the line. "Make the call, I'll be at the lab in ten minutes."

"_Wait, what's wrong with_ – " Steve's voice was cut off when Natasha ended the connection.

"Hold on, Clint." The Black Widow whispered before doubling back to meet up with the other Avengers. "We will save you."

* * *

The dead scientist's lab was located in the basement of his home – cliché, but true. Steve and Bruce were both pacing around the first floor of Conroy's house when Natasha rejoined them. Quietly they let her explain what happened. The boys were silent until she finished.

"You lost Agent Barton in a riot?" Steve repeated slowly. He was beyond shocked at the outcome, it sounded almost ludicrous. The two SHIELD agents were almost psychic when it came to one another's location. At least Barton always seemed to know exactly where Natasha was.

Natasha's cold glare answered the Captain's question. It also sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. Steve silently wondered how Tony could sleep at night – the billionaire always seemed to be on the wrong end of the Widow's death glare.

"I'm sorry, I just find this all very surprising." Steve shook his head. "Okay, do you have a plan?"

"The plan is we get Barton out of there." Natasha snapped back, turning her back to her teammates.

"Out of where, exactly." Bruce spoke up, arms secured around his thin frame. "He was taken by the local police, right? They'll take him to the hospital for treatment."

"Not necessarily." Natasha sighed. "Police in this country aren't really known for being accommodating to rioters. They could take him in and interrogate him without proper medical attention. He's in trouble, we need to act now."

"Tony's on his way." Steve told her. "Banner and him can work on getting Conroy's lab accessible. The two of us will go extract Hawkeye. Hopefully when we've completed our task, Bruce," Steve turned towards the doctor, capturing his attention. "You will have an idea of what we're dealing with and a plan to fix it."

"We don't know what's in there." Bruce pointed a weak finger in the general direction of the lab. "For all we know it's empty and this is all a show." He waved his hands to the security system on the lab door. "I need blood samples, I need the knife Clint was stabbed with." Banner sighed loudly, eyes avoiding his teammates faces. "I need more information – more time."

"We'll make it work." Steve rallied, voice firm and confident. "We're going to save him."

"And if we don't?" Bruce wondered out loud. The words hung in the air, swallowed up by the tension and silence that followed.

"Failure is not an option." Natasha spoke finally, only giving Steve one last look before heading to the door. They were going after Hawkeye, with or without a plan.

If Clint was indeed poisoned, it would only be a matter of time before failure became unavoidable.

* * *

_Sorry this one took a while to get up (and for the shortness) _

…_and for this author-note's lack of sense…_

_I've been swamped with different things and haven't had a whole lot of time to sit down and type/plot/write…and what not. It's a total bummer, but real life is real life. Hopefully I'll get everything squared away soon so I can focus more on telling stories! _

_Hope you guys are still enjoying the story (so far anyway ^^)_

_Now I'm going to try and over come my insomnia…night! _


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks to those who took the time to review last chapter: discordchick, Pam, tic tac toe 03, annie rules, Office Romance, and Sinkme. I appreciate the support, you guys are awesome! ^^ _

_I read somewhere that, "Reviews are like water, writers need them to survive." And while that is true, this for me is a truer statement, "Reviews are like coffee, they both inspire and keep me active." _

* * *

Riot Part Four

In the dark corners of his mind, Clint was safe. There was no pain or danger. No crushing guilt or heavy responsibility to worry about. He drifted carefree among black clouds of nothing. A sort of peace settled deep within his battered soul.

A nightmare drove away the sense of security, the dark clouds turned into dark water – a vast ocean – tossing and turning the archer, smothering the breath from his lungs.

Awareness hit Clint like a wall of ice, his breath hitched at the sudden shift of reality. Unfamiliar sounds and smells kept Barton from breaking his 'sleeping' façade. Once Clint knew for sure that he was alone, he let his mind drifted again. Trying to figure out exactly where he was and what had happened.

The dull ache radiating from the back of his head told the archer that he'd been knocked unconscious. It didn't explain why he was so cold.

An involuntary shiver ran through Clint's slumped frame from the over powering chill. Icy pain followed, snaking under his skin. Barton's stormy eyes snapped open at the terrible agony, a scream making it half way out of his throat before Clint managed to muffle it.

There were a few things Clint became aware of as his eyes fell closed once more. The first thing was that his hands were cuffed to a chair in a rather dirty looking room – probably built for interrogation.

The second thing Barton noticed was that his body felt like it had been dipped in ice water for longer than what was considered healthy.

Third, and this acknowledgement happened to be the oddest for Clint, he was coated in a thick layer of sweat. How could he sweating when it was so cold?

A door opened to the left and Clint raised his head to look at his current enemy. Upon seeing the man's uniform Clint quickly remembered what had transpired before his unscheduled nap.

Mission. Conroy. Riot. Knife. Natasha had lost him.

Possible poison – although if the way Clint felt was any indication, definite poison.

Yeah, things weren't looking very optimistic at the moment.

With a groan Barton forced his head up and eyed the police officer suspiciously. "This doesn't look like a hospital." Clint licked his dry, chapped lips after he spoke. The sound's vibration had sent sparks of fire down his throat. It almost kept Clint from speaking again.

Almost.

"How observant," the tall uniformed man deadpanned as he looked down at his prisoner and opened the file in his hands. "We don't give medical attention to rebel scum."

"I vaguely remember telling you this before you knocked me out, but let's give it another try – I am a victim." Clint sighed heavily, leaning his head back in exhaustion and frustration. "Now I'm a dying victim."

"Don't be overly dramatic. The wounds you sustained were all superficial." The police officer rolled his eyes, stepping closer to the archer, tapping the once again closed file on his open palm. With a nodding gesture aimed at Clint's side the man smirked. "That was just a glorified scratch."

Clint glanced down at the wound for the first time since waking and noted the makeshift bandage they had provided him with – a blood saturated rag held in place by silver duck tape.

"Oh yeah, that's going to get infected." Clint grumbled bitterly, masking his growing concern. The wound looked like it should hurt, but he couldn't even feel it. All he felt was cold numbness.

"The sooner you admit to planting a bomb at the riot, the quicker we can get you to a doctor." The police officer told the archer off handedly.

It was Barton's turn to roll his eyes. "Are you seriously trying to pin that on me?"

"That's the beauty of this situation. I don't have to pin it on you the evidence says it all. All I want is a confession." The man smiled crookedly at the archer. "And then maybe we'll let a doctor look you over."

"I'm not confessing to something I didn't do." Clint shot back defiantly. In the back of his mind he knew that this was all pointless – SHIELD would wipe all evidence of Clint's identity once Natasha broke him out. Hell, Tony was probably on the job already.

"We'll see about that." The officer chuckled lightly. "I'll give you some more time to consider your options."

"You mean like how I'm going to kick your ass?" Clint growled under his breath as the police officer exited the room. Barton wasn't aiming for the police officer to hear him, but rather to remind himself he still had some fight left. He was currently down, but definitely not out.

Taking in a deep breath Clint lifted his head from his chest and looked around the room. Yes, Barton was aware that his partner would come rescue him, but Clint wasn't one to sit on his ass and do nothing. Plus he loathed being considered a damsel in distress.

"_Barton_?" Natasha's voice sounded, causing Clint to look around.

Apart from the door there wasn't much else to the room. The floor was made up of dirt, a drain positioned in the center – for water or blood, Clint wasn't sure. The one sight that made Clint smile was the vent up high off to the side.

Idiots.

He did frown when he noticed Natasha wasn't hiding in the shadows behind the metal gate. "Nat?" He whispered, then it dawned on him that his earwig was still in place. "I see you haven't found me yet."

"_Oh, we've found you_ – _generally speaking_." Natasha informed her partner, dark humor lighting her words. "_It's just getting you out that seems to be the problem_."

Clint smirked a little to himself, letting his head rest down on his chest for a moment. "Next time we play extreme hide and seek we shouldn't involve the cops."

"_Extreme hide and seek_?" Natasha repeated. "_I've never played regular hide and seek_."

"Or poison, we shouldn't involve poison." Clint continued, ignoring his partner's words.

"_Clint_." Her voice became sharp, demanding. "_You're sure_?"

"Pretty sure." Clint answered playfully. He closed his eyes as he returned to seriousness. "Something's wrong. I'm so cold."

There was a pause before Natasha spoke again. "_Do you think it could be shock_?"

"No, no." Clint licked his dry lips. "It feels like my blood has turned to ice. It burns cold."

"_Banner's on it, you are going to be fine_." Natasha reassured. "_Sit tight, Clint. We're coming for you_."

The link went quiet and Clint knew his partner muted her end to talk with Steve, if he was with her. She had said 'we' so Clint figured it was Steve considering Nat said Banner was working on figuring out a counter to the poison.

Letting a out a breath, Clint tested his bindings. The cuffs were tight enough to dig into his skin during the check. The pain was odd, felt like ice pressing against his skin. A freezing burn. The archer's breath hitched with a thought – was his blood tainted? He needed to remember not to allow anyone to touch it directly.

Another tremor ran through Clint as he considered the situation. He knew it would be smarter for him to sit there, regulate his heartbeat and wait for his teammates to save him. His wrist was already deep purple from being stepped on, knee swollen visibly under his dark jeans and impossible to flex.

Maybe he should wait, but Barton had never been accused of listening to reason.

First he had to get free of the chair, and if he couldn't twist free of the cuffs he'd have to pick them. Lucky for Clint he had been in this sort of situation before – he was prepared. Long before joining SHIELD Clint started carrying safety pins in the hem of his shirts. Just within reach in case he needed to slip out of a pair of cuffs.

Twisting his hand to retrieve the pin sent more cold fire up Barton's arm. Frosted blood dripped down his sliced wrists. Shivers wracked Clint's body as he worked. Sweat slid from strains of his short hair down onto the archer's pale slick skin. With a pleased groan, Barton finally freed the silver pin from his shirt and slipped the point into the keyhole of the cuffs.

A twist here, an adjustment there and Clint was free with a huffed sigh of relief.

Clint stood up and then he promptly fell down.

Pins and needles stabbed at every nerve in his legs. It spread in waves up his lower back. Gritting his teeth Barton put every fraction of his being into not screaming. The sharp pricks of pain spread further and soon every nerve in Clint's body was completely consumed in cold pain.

Unable to hold in the sound back any longer Clint screamed.

It was like being shocked with frosted blue electricity – it threaded throughout his trembling body. Cold, frozen, unyielding electricity.

The pain gave him no time to breathe – no pause or relief. The archer rolled his body in an attempt to get away from the pain, but there was no where to run – his body was the source of the agony. It was in his blood.

Another scream ripped through Clint's throat and he suddenly didn't care who heard him, as long as the pain stopped.

Muscles tightened and slackened on their own whims. It felt like he was being stabbed and electrocuted as he froze to death.

With a gasp Barton grabbed at the dirt floor under his body as he continued to shake. It was an attempt to ground himself to the world – everything was pain.

A door opened and Clint couldn't bring himself to care. Rough hands pulled him off the ground, voices yelling.

It wasn't Natasha. She wouldn't handle him so roughly when he was in pain. Maybe she would hit him after he stopped screaming and when she was sure he would survive, but not before.

The hands probably belonged to the tall police officer from before. Clint almost felt like smiling – the officer and his partner were probably pissed he was free. They definitely didn't seem to care that he was in agony.

Head down, hunched over his body Barton tried desperately to catch control of his breathing. The pain was fading now, the icy current had stopped pulsating through his weakened body. Everything was cold – frozen. Clint have expected to be able to see his breath, but when he opened his eyes he didn't.

All the hawk could hear was the sound of his blood rushing through his body. _Tainted blood_, he reminded himself numbly. _Don't touch_.

Eyes snapped open, Clint wondered why hadn't they re-cuffed him yet? Two darkly clad bodies lay down on the floor in front of him. Two shadows entered the room slowly, the one that knelt by his side felt familiar.

A flash of red – Natasha.

Warm hands cupped his cheeks as a soft voice whispered to him. The touch felt like a furnace to Barton – he wanted more. He wanted to be consumed by white-hot fire. He wanted to feel anything but the cold.

Clint blinked back at her lips as they moved, not comprehending at first. And then the sound clicked into place. " – hurt. Clint, can you hear me?"

"D-don't." Clint's body still quaked, the movement broke up the word. With a quick swallow Clint closed his eyes and tried his warning again. "Don't t-touch my blood."

When he opened his eyes again Natasha was looking up at Steve. The Captain's voice filled the room. "We need to get him to Bruce. Can you find the knife?"

A silent nod was Natasha's response before she turned back to Clint. "I'll see you soon, alright?"

"Don't touch my blood." Barton repeated, voice stronger – steadier. It was important, very important. "I'm s-so c-cold." His eyes shut again before he could see his teammates share concerned glances.

"I'll be careful." Steve spoke, closer now. Clint couldn't bring himself to look at the moment. The pain might have settled but it felt like all of his energy had been drained in its wake.

The ice spiked through Clint again as Steve gathered archer's quaking body against his broad chest. Clint whimpered against the man's chest as the Captain's body heat burned into his frozen skin. Half of him wanted more, the rest wanted to get as far away from the new pain as possible.

"Get him to Bruce, I'll be right behind you." Natasha's voice drifted into Clint's haze.

"Hurry." Steve replied just as Clint submerged into the frigid darkness.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed. How cruel should I be to Clint? Should I give him a reprieve? _

_Thanks for reading! _


	5. Chapter 5

_Hey guys! Sorry it took so long, had to finish up a job and a friend came to visit me this weekend. It was epic. Anyone else see the meteor shower? It was pretty awesome…I didn't even know there was supposed to be one until the stars started falling Saturday night!_

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed for the last chapter: discordchick, DevinBourdain, silvanelf, Hornswaggler, Beguilingirl, JohnLennonLuvva, tic tac toe 03, Ms. Perception, Rivan Warrioress, annie rules, Riptide2, dragonlady911, DCdreamer55, Angie, Sinkme, Bookdancer, Em R, T.R. Blessing, Dragonridingattorney43, Lou-deadfroggy_

_You guys are awesome! _

_Onto the whumpage…_

* * *

Part Five

Consciousness returned slowly to Clint this time around. He drifted towards the surface. Cradled in the dark waves that clouded his mind. The icy pain that had overcome Clint while he had been awake had become numb. The daggers that had pierced through his nerves no longer twisted to create the cold firer in his veins.

"C—lint." An annoying voice sang out his name. Barton struggled to open his too heavy eyelids, if only to glare at the owner of the voice. But it felt like his eyelids were weighed down with led or cemented in place. The normally simple task seemed impossible.

"Tony, leave him alone." A second voice spoke, softer and not as close as the first – somewhere across from where the archer lay. Stubbornly Clint doubled his efforts to regain control over his closed eyes.

"What? He gets to sleep while we do all the work? I think not." The billionaire said as Clint managed to peel his eyelids apart, they seemed to be crusted with dry salt left from the tears the teargas produced.

Barton's head rolled on the soft surface he was laid out on. His eyes failed to focus through the fog onto the faces of his companions.

Bruce, it was Bruce Tony was talking to.

"Give the man a break," Banner spoke again in Clint's defense. "He's been poisoned."

Was that the reason he felt so cold? Poison – such a simple and unsatisfying explanation.

"Nuh," Clint tried to speak, but the words got caught in his frozen throat. It hurt.

"Clint?"

"Barton?"

The two voices spoke different variations of the archer's name at the same time. One with concern, the other with an excitement that seemed misplaced under the circumstances. Tony was always the odd one, hiding his true feelings with inappropriate and mostly fake emotions. Clint saw through his mask, mostly because Clint himself was guilty of using the same tactics.

Instead of attempting to speak again, Clint groaned and blinked at the white mist coated over his eyes. He could barely see through the blue tinted blur.

"I'll get you some water." Bruce announced and vanished from Barton's line of sight.

Clint blinked slowly and Tony's face appeared far too close for comfort when the archer's eyes opened once more. "Get 'way." Feebly Barton raised a hand to push the offending man back.

"You don't look overly bad." Tony huffed. "I mean, sure you're pale and all – "

The billionaire's observations were cut short by Bruce's return. The good doctor glared at his fellow scientist before he helped Clint sip at the offered water. The cool liquid cleared the ache in Barton's throat slightly, but sent more shivers throughout his battered body.

"We should probably rinse out your eyes out again." Bruce told the archer who nodded his approval weakly. Apparently the first 'treatment' he'd received for the teargas had occurred when Clint had been unconscious. Cool water dripped soothingly over the SHIELD agent's abused retinas, bringing relief to the lingering sting.

"Thanks." Clint told Banner when the doctor had finished and started to wipe away the excess water that had dripped down the sides of the injured man's face.

"How are you feeling, all things considered?" Banner asked and stepped back from the bed with a satisfied nod.

"Feels like I've been hit by a truck." Clint answered with a light groan. "Repeatedly." The archer pushed his head further back into what he realized know was a pillow. "Where am I?"

"Conray's house." Bruce answered easily as he checked Barton's vitals.

Clint stared back for a second before he could speak again. "Tell me I'm not in that psychopath's bed." The assassin winced and moved to sit up – strong hands gently pushed him back down.

Steve had appeared out of thin air.

"When did you learn how to teleport?" Clint grumbled as he tried to bat away the super soldier's hands.

"Don't get up, you'll pull your stitches." The Captain ordered kindly. Ignoring Clint's statement blatantly.

It dawned on Clint that everyone was treating him like he might break – with the exception of Tony, of course. Whatever poison he had been infected with must be bad. The realization made Clint frown. He honestly didn't feel that horrible. Just a little beat up and cold – really nothing out of the ordinary. At least, for him, anyway.

Clint took a second to remember what happened. Again. The fact that he had to pause and reflect each time he regained consciousness was admittedly disconcerting. At least Barton recalled the events with decent clarity once he put his mind to the task, but still it was worrisome.

"Natasha?" Clint looked directly at Steve for the answer.

"On her way, she retrieved the knife – she's just making sure none of those uniforms can track us here." The Captain dutifully answered. "She's unharmed."

At least that news allowed Clint to relax marginally. The archer tipped his head back in Bruce's direction, catching the doctor's worried stare with his own hazy eyes. "How am I doing, doc?"

Banner offered his patient a small smile. "Not excellently. Tony got here shortly after Steve called him – apparently he had already been on his way."

"Hey, I don't like being left out." Tony called out from somewhere further away. Barton didn't want to waste the energy to look. It also hurt to move – all of his muscles felt cramped and over worked.

"Plus Thor took off to see Jane and I was bored." Tony's voice continued. He sounded slightly rejected – if Clint had felt a bit better he might tease the billionaire of being lonely. Maybe later.

"Which was a good thing," Bruce continued as if the other scientist hadn't spoken. "Since we needed him to get into the lab."

"Bruce." Clint breathed. He wanted an answer, not a play by play of what he missed. At the moment all the archer wanted was the information and then possibly to fall back into peaceful, numb oblivion.

"Right." Banner sighed heavily. "I haven't finished going through his notes, as it turns out Dr. Conroy wasn't a very organized man."

"Which is odd, because I always thought that every mad scientist had an obsessive compulsive disorder." Tony chimed in, once again closer to Clint's bed. Or Conroy's – Barton shivered at the thought of resting where the evil man slept. Well, used to sleep – a small smile curled on the assassin's lips.

"It'll help when Natasha brings me the knife." Bruce continued, once again dodging around Tony's interruption. "I do need to take a few vials of blood. I was hoping you'd still be unconscious, but Tony was concerned."

"I wasn't concerned." Tony scoffed, arms crossed over his glowing chest. "However, and I mean no offense by this Feathers, but you kind of look dead warmed over right now."

"Frozen." Clint rested a hand on his chest. It felt tighter than it had when he'd woken.

"What?" Steve and Tony asked in unison.

"Death frozen over – too cold to be warm." Clint muttered as he allowed his eyes to fall shut and his head to fall to the side in exhaustion. A burning palm touched his forehead – recapturing his attention. His dulled blue eyes stared up at Bruce's worried expression.

"You're burning up." The doctor announced.

"Impossible." Clint argued weakly, unsure if they had even heard his tiny whisper.

"The fever is getting higher." Banner shook his head and sat on the edge of Clint's bed. "I'm going to draw the blood now, okay. Just relax."

"I'll try." Clint responded as his eyes fluttered closed once more. Normally he wasn't a huge fan of needles, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care. There was a small prick of pain in the crook of the hawk's arm.

The little lick of pain re-sparked the electricity from before.

Clint's eyes snapped open and he flinched away. Adrenalin hit him fast and hard, sending his heart speeding painfully into the bruised ribs in his chest. A strangled cry sounded before his body constricted. The needle Bruce had stuck inside his vein was ripped out and fresh frozen blood flowed from the new injury.

Strong hands held Clint down as he road out the pain.

His breath came in hard gasps the pain started to fade back again. It left Clint shivering in the wake of its devastation.

"You're okay." A new but familiar voice whispered in his ear. "You're going to be fine." It was soft. Welcomed after the torture he'd received. Thin fingers ran through his hair and he was certain.

"Tasha," Clint murmured, his head dropped in her direction. His energy was gone – spent.

"I'm here." She whispered back to him. "Bruce has the knife, we're going to figure this out soon."

"Soon." The hawk repeated tiredly.

_Perhaps not soon enough_, Clint couldn't help but consider.

The waves dragged Clint back down into darkness.

* * *

Natasha continued to run her fingers through her partner's sweat soaked hair. She rocked him slightly as she hummed into his ear – a song meant only for Clint. The Russian's eyes refused to look up at the others still in the room. They were intruders and for the moment they were the people she blamed for allowing her hawk to be in pain.

After Natasha had heard Clint scream for the second time that day she needed a moment to recover. The anger that boiled inside of her now simmered down to a safer temperature.

Vaguely she remembered her mad dash up the wooden steps after hearing her hawk's cries. Natasha remembered how her heart stopped and she stood frozen at the door as Clint thrashed – fighting against the pain and the help of his friends. Natasha remembered how she'd pushed the bagged knife into Bruce's shaky hands and shoved Tony and Steve away to get to her partner.

Now Natasha sat with her back against the bed's headboard and Clint's head settled securely against her chest. It took her a few minutes to be able to focus on anything or anyone else in the room.

Slowly she looked away from Clint's pale face, up and over to Steve and Tony's worried expressions. Banner had rushed from the room shortly after her arrival – the stress was probably no good for his condition. Natasha hoped the 'other guy' would let Banner do the work he needed to save Clint's fading life.

Tony looked visibly shaken. No doubt he had tried to lighten the situation with his bad attempts at humor while she had been absent – seeing his best friend in terrible pain had put a quick end to that façade.

Steve tried but failed to remain stoic. Normally a strong supportive leader – right now all Natasha saw was a scared and helpless kid.

"What happened?" Natasha found her voice, the tone held accusation. She had left her partner in their care. They had failed to protect him from the pain.

"Bruce was only drawing blood. He'd even asked permission first." Steve reported quietly. His eyes dropped away. A sign of the guilt the soldier was feeling.

"Clint just – " A wave of the Captain's hand told Natasha that he was at a lost for words.

"Screaming." Tony's shaky voice filled in the blank. His eyes took on a haunted look. "Clint just started screaming. His body seized up, I don't know why."

"Must be the poison. I mean, that much is obvious, right?" Steve voiced the obvious. "I've never seen a poison like this." He shook his head in disbelieve. "Clint keeps complaining that he's cold, shivering – but he's burning up."

Natasha let her eyes drift back to her unconscious partner's face. She could feel the heat rolling off of Clint – it was like was about to catch fire.

"You haven't seen a poison like this before because this isn't a normal poison." Natasha told them quietly. "Conroy was an evil son of a bitch. He developed all sorts of unspeakable drugs and poisons for _fun._ There's no telling what the knife was laced with."

"Banner will figure it out." Tony spoke again, this time his voice sounded stronger. More determined. "I'm going to go help him." Without further prodding or theatrics Tony took his leave quickly.

Good. Bruce needed all the help he could get.

Steve hovered on the other side of the room. Natasha figured he wanted to help, he just didn't know how.

"Bring me something cold for his head." Natasha commanded him sternly. She felt sorry for the idiot. Although none of this was even remotely close to being Steve's fault. The hard truth was Natasha only had herself to blame for Clint's condition. She had been the overseer of the operation. She should have told Clint to back off – wait for a better, safer opportunity.

It was the past now. There was no going back. The only thing Natasha could do now was to take care of Clint now and pray to whoever might be listening that he'd survive.

* * *

_More hurt next chapter, I thought our little Hawk could use a bit of comfort ^^_

_Thanks for reading! _

_Reviews are gummy vitamins for writers. Just a little FYI. ^^_


	6. Chapter 6

_Hey guys, real life has officially taken over my time ^^ I've been getting ready for classes…they start next week. I'm excited! _

_Special thanks to everyone who reviewed! You guys seriously make my day. _

* * *

Part Six

The distant rumble of thunder signaled a storm was stirring outside. Drops of cold grey rain splattered against Conroy's former bedroom window. A few minutes later, lightening split across the darkened sky – the light flickered off the walls in the bedroom like a flash of a camera. As if someone in hidden in the sky wanted a keepsake of the Avengers' current sorrow and fear.

Natasha hadn't moved from behind Barton since he had slipped back into blessed sleep. The Widow continued to support her partner as he rested, her back against the headboard behind her.

Steve hovered off to the side and offered help when he could. Mostly the Captain gave the assassin's space as they waited for the others to bring news.

Bruce and Tony worked furiously down in the lab. Bruce searched through Conroy's scattered notes while Tony scanned through the dead man's computer files.

"Hey Bruce," The billionaire signaled the doctor over to look at the screen. "I think I found something. I hacked into his bio-weapon project files, check this out."

A few taps on the keyboard and clicks of the mouse later and a file opened up. Bruce's eyes scanned over the information, taking in the image of the knife. "It's an exact match for the blade Natasha recovered. The one Dr. Conroy used on Clint." Banner confirmed. "What does it say?"

"It's coated with something he code-named _The Titanic_." Tony shivered as he scanned the information on the drug. "Oh crap."

Bruce read over Tony's shoulder, he could taste bile in the back of his throat. A shiver ran down his spine as he reread the cold black words. "Oh God." Banner whispered. "Is there anything about a cure?"

The pause lasted too long to give the doctor hope. Refocused on the computer Tony gave a slight shake of his head. "Go tell the others what we've found, I'll search for more information. There has to be something here that'll save him."

With the barest of nods Bruce left Tony to work and started up the stairs.

* * *

Natasha and Steve both look up and over when they heard the scientist's footfall on the staircase. In Natasha's arms, Barton took the new sound as a signal to wake up. His blue-grey eyes opened with a bit more clarity than he'd had before.

"Clint?" Natasha asked, a small spark of hope flared within her.

"Present." Barton groaned weakly as he lifted his badly bruised wrist up a fraction from the bed. He seemed more awake this time, more like her hawk. It seemed like a good sign, but the look on Bruce's face did anything but lift Natasha's spirits.

Steve stepped towards the bed and sent a worried glance to Bruce. "Doctor, have you discovered anything?"

"Yes, we've found what you've been infected with." Bruce announced, eyes locked onto Clint's gaze. "Conroy called it _The Titanic_. A poison he developed that spreads through the victim's blood and – " Banner stumbled, forced to pause so that he could recover. Natasha's heart fluttered painfully in her chest as she waited for the bad news. It had to be bad, the way that Bruce was acting.

"It starts with the chills," Bruce started when he could speak again. "It causes the victim to feel as though he's freezing – but that's when the fever starts. It zaps the person's energy."

"Check, check and check." Clint mutters when Bruce gives another pause. "So, what do I have to look forward to, doc?"

Bruce looked down at the floor and cleared his throat before he answered. "The drug causes the victim's nerves to become acutely sensitive, which is probably why you lost consciousness when I tried to draw your blood."

Clint smiled broadly up at the redhead. "That would also explain why Natasha petting me feels so damned good." The Russian cracked a faint smile of her own before she motioned Banner to continue.

"You'll have a burst of energy," Banner announced. "I'm actually thinking that's what's happening now." Bruce let out a sigh before continuing again. "The next recorded symptoms were chest tightening, hallucinations starting, the nerves will become sensitive to the point where any sort of touch will be horribly painful, severe disorientation and finally the victim will start to cough."

"None of this screams death." Clint pointed out with a light scoff. Natasha rolled her eyes, leave it to Barton to mask fear with sarcasm.

"Why is it called _The Titanic_?" Steve pondered thoughtfully. "I mean the cold thing makes sense, but the rest of it?"

Bruce shuddered visibly. "I believe Conroy called it that because of how the victim dies." He looked down at Clint with sorrow in his eyes. "The victim starts coughing up blood. The lungs begin to fill – essentially the victim drowns in his own blood."

A silence followed Bruce's explanation only to be broken by Barton's scratchy voice. "Well, that sounds entirely unpleasant. Do we have a time frame?"

Natasha and Steve both looked to Bruce for the answer. The scientist paled. "I – I'm unsure. The file didn't have a time frame. All I know is when Clint starts coughing blood, we wont have much time left."

"Let's not let it get to that point then." Steve announced, "What can I do to help?"

"Tony and I are still searching for the cure – if there is one." Bruce told the Captain. "We could use all the help we can get." The doctor glanced over at Natasha. "Keep him comfortable, keep your eye on his symptoms. Call for us if you need anything."

"Just find the cure." Natasha told them calmly, her face blank as she hid her emotions from them. "Please." She added once they were out of earshot. She had paused for a moment but quietly continued to run her fingers through her partner's hair.

"If it weren't for the cold and the pain this poison might not be all bad." Clint tipped his head in her direction and sighed contently. She half expected him to start to purr with the sheer look of pleasure on his face.

Natasha watched his eyes roll up to hers and held her breath in wonder of what he might say. Would he say goodbye? Offer her some sort of comfort? Ask how – why she lost his position in the crowd and left him vulnerable?

* * *

"Gotta take a piss." Clint announced bluntly.

"Way to kill the moment, Barton." Natasha huffed as he pushed himself into a seated position. Clint wondered slightly what she had expected him to say.

"Are you sure you should get up?" Natasha nagged. She was worried – he understood that. If the situation were in reverse, Barton knew he'd be freaking out. Still Clint couldn't really resist the need to move. It wasn't that that he thought of his death often, but Barton never wanted to die on his back. Clint would die fighting, or he wouldn't die at all.

"It's either that or piss here and that's not sanitary. Someone could get sick." Clint chuckled at his own joke – his body shuddered at the loss of Natasha's body heat. "You are a lot warmer than the air." He commented as he shivered again. Quietly Clint slipped his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself up from the bed.

"Whoa," Clint's eyes lit up with black fireworks for a moment. With several blinks Barton fended off the spots, still standing thanks to Natasha's steady grip on his arms.

"Don't pull your stitches!" Natasha scolded when Clint tried to brush off her help.

Barton smirked in a thoughtfully as he glanced back at her. "Won't really matter if I do. You heard what Bruce said, if they don't find a cure – "

"Don't talk like that." Natasha snapped. "You aren't getting out of this that easily."

"I'm sorry," Clint snorted loudly as he started to shuffle across the room. "What part of drowning to death in my own blood sounded easy to you?"

Slowly they walked to the bedroom's privet bathroom, Natasha's hand still firmly on his arm. The bathroom wasn't very far from the bed, but suddenly 'not that far' felt like miles to Clint. His chest tightened painfully from the exertion and the archer had to resist rubbing at the spot. Natasha was already stressed out, no need to cause her any more turmoil.

"Well, let's not have you cut corners and simply bleed to death first, shall we?" Natasha shot back playfully. The lighthearted tone was shattered as soon as Clint blocked her entrance to the bathroom.

The frown and glare the Widow gave her partner wasn't as deadly as it could have been, but the look still would strike fear in most men. Luckily Clint wasn't like most men.

"I don't need a chaperone, Nat." The archer offered her a bright smile. "I'll be sure not to speed along my untimely death." He promised in a low voice, almost seductive until he shut the door in his partner's face. "I'll be out in a minute." He called through the wood. In his mind he could picture Natasha giving the door, and him, her look of death.

Once alone inside the small room Clint's body sagged weary. He leaned against the door for a few seconds before he did what he'd come to do. After he flushed the toilet, Clint leaned heavily on the sink and stared tiredly at his reflection in the mirror.

The man that stared back at Clint looked terrible – maybe even half dead. It would be kind to call himself pale – Clint looked more grey than white. Sickly. The bruises he had sustained from the riot were darker now in contrast – they almost looked black instead of deep purple. Briefly Clint wondered what the rest of his body looked like, but couldn't bring himself to check.

Clint turned on the faucet and waited patiently for the temperature to warm up. He was already cold, the archer didn't want to give his body any more reasons to be painful. Another shiver went down the agent's spine as he stared down at the rushing water.

After a safe amount of time the archer stuck his hands into the now hot water, enjoying the burn of heat on his frozen fingers. At some point Clint blinked and the water went from being normal and clear to being blood red. Barton jumped back immediately with a small cry of surprise and hit the wall hard enough to shake it. The collision sent daggers of pain spearing through the sensitive nerves in Clint's back.

The archer gasped in agony, unable to suck in the air to sufficiently scream as his face twisted in a deep wince.

The heavy thud must have captured Natasha's attention because in the background of his panic Clint heard her call out his name.

When she broke down the door Clint looked up, half wondering when exactly he had sat down on the ground. Natasha's face hovered in front of his, her eyes bled with worry. Her hands – hot with what felt to Clint like unnatural warmth – cupped his face as she continued to frantically call his name.

"Hallucinations," Barton whispered to her softly, his eyes closed as a shudder of cold ran through him. "Check."

"It's going to be okay." Natasha promised him, her thumb brushed against his cheek. Even the simple touch had started to hurt. It took everything Clint had not to flinch away from the contact.

"You're going to be okay." She captured his gaze with her eyes.

Clint looked back down at his hands. They were no longer covered in the sticky red substance – only clear droplets of water. "It's going to get worse." He told her.

"I know." Natasha nodded slowly. "I know."

* * *

_Okay, so I realize that most of those who died in the water when the Titanic sank died from the cold, not drowning…the backing behind the poisons name was mostly because of the 'freezing' feeling and the over sensitive nerves. I couldn't think of a cooler code name…sniffle. Please don't judge me too harshly. My brain is kind of dead at the moment. _

_Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for reading! _

_Reviews and Reviewers are loved ^^ _


	7. Chapter 7

_My apologies for not updating sooner! Classes have started and I already have a bunch of projects and quizzes to worry about. Don't worry though, I love writing and will be updating when I have time ^^ (most likely on weekends)_

_Thanks for reading my little story! Special thanks to all those who reviewed for the last chapter! You guys are absolutely amazing! I get super happy whenever my email tells me I've got a new one! _

_Big thanks to all those who supported The Titanic as my drug's name ^^ I'm really happy you guys liked it! _

* * *

Part Seven

At some point Natasha managed to coax Clint back to the bed, though the warm covers seemed to have lost their comfort. Not that sleeping in a dead psychopath's bed was in any way comforting to begin with.

Natasha was grateful to be left alone with her hawk. Steve and the others meant well and had every right to be with their fallen teammate in his time of need, but Natasha was selfish. If these were her partner's last moments, an idea that Natasha was fighting against with all her heart, she wanted to be alone with him.

Clint didn't sleep. It was something Natasha was grateful for and worried about. The archer lay curled on top of the wrinkled bedspread a constant shiver trembled through his weakened body.

"Wouldn't you be warmer under the covers?" Natasha asked cautiously as she edged closer to his body on the bed. To her horror he flinched away from her.

"It already feels like I'm laying on a bed of nails." Clint rumbled out through clenched teeth.

For him to admit pain told Natasha enough – this was serious. The symptoms were rapidly appearing and Natasha's heart constricted when she realized he was fading just as quickly. Right before her eyes her hawk was dying.

"Do you want anything? Water?" Natasha needed to make sure he was as comfortable as he could be. This was all her fault – if only she had pulled him back before the riot.

"Yeah, that would be good." Clint nodded slightly, although the way he was starting to shiver, it could have just been an uncontrolled movement.

Not wanting to leave Clint for long, Natasha ducked into the bathroom and filled a glass that Steve had brought her earlier. When she returned she gently helped Clint up, though he didn't react to strongly against the touch she was pretty sure it hurt him. Damn Conroy and his twisted poison. Damn him straight to the worst part of hell.

Gently she tipped the glass to his pale lips and the liquid slid down his throat. The reaction was immediate, Clint's blue-grey eyes widened in shock as the cry of pain bubbled out with a spray of the cool water. A harsh cough took over Clint's shaky frame and for a minute Natasha was terrified that this was the end.

Disregarding the fact that it might harm him, Natasha pulled her partner into her arms and rocked him. She needed to be close to him, needed him to know she was still there. "You're okay, you're okay, just breathe." Natasha told him, voice just above a whisper directed into his ear.

A strangled cry sounded again and Clint actually let out a sob. From their positioning Natasha couldn't see his face and suddenly she needed to. Gently she turned him so his sweat soaked forehead was resting against her neck as she moved back and forth.

The coughing subsided finally and for a moment the two of them just breathed.

"I'm okay." Clint offered after a long stretch of silence. His voice was tight with pain, but strong. "The water, it was just too much."

"The water?" Natasha asked, surprised. Her eyes quickly narrowed. "Stupid, I should have guessed something like that would hurt you. Lying down hurts you." _Me touching you hurts too, _Natasha added silently, but refused to acknowledge it out loud. If she did she would have to let him go.

Natasha wasn't ready to let him go.

"B-Bruce'll find something." Clint tried to comfort her. How stupid was that? Here he was the one in pain and he was worried about her. "It wasn't your fault."

That caught her attention. "What wasn't?" Natasha asked, though she already knew.

"The riot, for one. Me getting stabbed for another." Clint managed a shadow of his typical smirk. "It was my own damned fault. I should have pulled back, but I wanted – wanted to get it done. I – I thought I had time."

"I lost your position." Natasha argued. There was no excuse for that. "You never would have lost my position."

"We'll never know what I would have or wouldn't have done. Riot's are bad news. I should have gotten out sooner." The archer pointed out firmly. "This was not your fault. I wouldn't have listened if you told me to pull back. The hit was destined to go badly from the start."

"Next time we're telling Fury to shove his ideas up his – "

"There won't be a next time." Clint's soft declaration shut the redhead up. "No situation is ever exactly the same." He clarified when she didn't respond. "I'm going to be – be fine, Nat." The small stammer didn't make the Russian feel much better.

Silence swallowed them again, the only sounds in the room where their breathing. Clint's breaths were ragged, close to wheezing.

* * *

Things went from bad to worse after that. Clint's skin's sensitivity increased to the point where everything that brushed against his skin burned his nerves. Natasha's skin felt like fire, her gentlest touch felt like knives cutting into his skin. It was pure torture.

He did his best to hold back the agony he was feeling. Clint knew his partner was blaming herself for his condition. He also knew he only had himself and Conroy to blame.

As time ticked by Clint's thirst grew more and more painful, but the idea of taking another drink made him wince. When Natasha had poured the water down his throat the first time it had felt like lava. The agony had lingered, leaving Barton a whimpering mess in her razor sharp arms.

That kind of rerun would do nothing to cure Natasha's guilt filled heart.

Everything turned quiet around them. The rest of the team, and SHIELD from what Barton had heard, were working on a cure for him. Time was running out though, Clint knew that. He could feel himself slipping away.

Things were starting to get fuzzy. Memories of other times when he had been drugged overlapped with the present. Most of those times had been when he'd been in enemy hands. Natasha's calm, soothing voice drew him back to the present.

It hurt. His blood was stained now, wrong. It didn't belong to him anymore. It wasn't his anymore.

"Nat, don't touch it." Clint whispered as his confusion grew.

"What?" Her cool voice entered his dark world of fire.

"My blood, it's in my blood."

There was a pause, something dripped on his face, something as hot as a small flame. Knives ran along his scalp suddenly, unexpected, causing Clint to scream.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Clint." Natasha gasped, the feeling of knives vanished. "It's going to be okay, I won't touch you again." She sounded so scared, he didn't like it, but she had to know. He was tainted.

If they were ever to touch again he would need to be cleansed. The poison was in his blood, it was ruined – he needed to be free of it.

"I want it out, I want it out of me." He said suddenly, wild eyes focused up at Natasha's confused eyes.

"Bruce!" She yelled suddenly, eyes moving towards the door. "Bruce, I need you now!"

His partner sounded desperate, why? Was she afraid of him? She knew, she knew he wasn't right. Tainted blood. He needed it out.

With a thrashing movement Clint fought to get off the bed, nearly knocking Natasha off the mattress in the process. His partner's hands felt like spears as they pushed down on his shoulders, trying to keep him in place.

A scream tore through his throat. The pain was increased from the force of the scream. Blindly Clint did what his instincts told him to do – fight.

The archer threw a punch that hit flesh and rolled from the bed, scrambling to the other side of the room. The bathroom. The door's lock was broken from when Natasha broke the door down earlier, so he had to work fast.

With a fist to the mirror the glass easily shattered. Clint grabbed the largest piece and raised his bruised wrist. He needed to get the blood out of him. It was tarnished, it no longer belonged to him.

"Client, what are – "

"Barton!"

Something hit Clint from the side before he could do any real damage to himself, the shard of glass shattered against the counter into a million tiny pieces.

"Clint, stop!"

It took Clint a moment to realize he was fighting against his friends, his teammates, Natasha. The energy within the archer was suddenly gone. Clint's knees buckled and he sagged to the ground. Natasha and Bruce helped soften the landing, guiding Barton's body down to the cold floor gently.

"Clint?" Natasha asked, sharp fingers on his cheek captured his attention back to her.

"I need it out of me, Nat, I'm tainted." He told her brokenly. "My blood is tainted."

* * *

Natasha was speechless as she watched her partner fall apart in front of her. Tears dripped down Clint's face unchecked as he begged for her to rid him of his blood – his life force.

She was still in shock from what she had seen. The sight of him pressing the shard of glass to his wrist, ready to take his own life to free himself from the grip of the poison and the pain, that image would haunt her until the day she died.

His mind was gone, she realized coldly. "He's lost." She whispered to herself.

Bruce knelt next to them, his hands around Clint's wrist as he examined it. "It's not a deep cut, but it's bleeding pretty badly. I'll need to wrap it. I'm afraid it'll send him into shock if I try stitching it in the state he's in." Banner's eyes moved from the damaged wrist to Clint's grayed face. "His nerves are already way to sensitive, all he's feeling is pain."

"Don-don't touch m-my blood." Barton's eyes fell on the doctor's face. "Tainted. It's tainted. I-I'll infect you."

"Clint, you're going to be fine." Bruce promised. "We have a lead, we think Conroy kept the antidotes for each of his poisons in his lab, but it's hidden. We're going to – "

A sudden burst of energy and Clint was fighting again, struggling against them.

"You won't take me alive! I won't tell you anything!" The archer shouted bitterly.

"He – he's not here anymore." Natasha told Bruce, slightly worried about the Hulk making an appearance when her partner struck the timid doctor across his face with a solid right hook. Quickly Natasha restrained her partner's arms, hugging his body to her forcefully.

"He thinks we're someone else," Natasha struggled to keep the archer under restraint. "Someone interrogating him. He's stuck in the past. The pain, he doesn't see us anymore." She felt frantic, the heat rolling off of Clint was too much. The whole situation was going to hell. Everything was so out of control – every solution out of reach.

"Hold him still," Banner told her needlessly. "We have to restrain him until we can find the antidote." Bruce rushed from the room to call Steve for help. Moments later the super soldier appeared and with his help they pulled a struggling Clint from the bathroom back to the bedroom and tied him down to the bed.

"I'm sorry," Natasha whispered to Clint once he was settled, his struggles decreasing as his energy leaked out of him.

With dark anger in his eyes, Clint stared back at Natasha with a cruelness he'd never directed at her before. Hell, she didn't even know he possessed such hatred. "I'll kill you." Clint promised Natasha in a voice that made her believe him. "I'll kill you all!"

"Clint," Natasha sighed out his name, her fingers brushing against his pale cheek only for him to flinch away in pain and disgust.

"I can't help him. I can't do anything but watch." She looked over her shoulder, back at Bruce. Natasha's eyes were lit with the heartbreak she felt. "We can't let this be the end."

"It won't be," Bruce promised with shaky confidence. "I'll bandage his wrist and go back to the lab. We'll find the cure."

"No, wait," Steve interrupted from the other side of the bed. "I have medical field training. I'll wrap his wrist. You'll be of more help down in the lab with Tony. More help than I'd be."

The doctor hesitated for a moment before nodding.

"We'll fix this." Banner told Natasha before vanishing out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

For the first time since this whole fiasco started, Natasha was starting to believe they wouldn't be able to save her hawk.

* * *

_Well things are definitely not looking good for Clint, huh? Don't worry my friends, this shows not over yet! _

_I hope you guys are still excited! _

_Reviews and reviewers are always loved!_


	8. Chapter 8

_Hey guys! I bought the Avengers movie today and watched it, so I felt kind of inspired to dive back into this story. Despite the fact that I should be working on one of my countless school projects and being generally productive. Oh well. I only have a lot to do. _

_So please enjoy, because I might be in trouble come Monday. (Insert panic here) _

* * *

Riot Part 8

Tony's eyes were burning and red-rimmed after spending hours staring at the harsh computer screen, but he refused to give up. Clint was upstairs dying and it was up to him to save the Avenger's resident archer. When Bruce had returned to Conroy's lab the man was pale and shaky. The billionaire didn't need to be told what had happened, he had heard the screams from where he sat parked in front of the computer.

Every second they wasted was another second Clint couldn't afford to lose.

"He's slipping away." Bruce whispered, struggling to regain the confidence needed. "I'm afraid we might not be able to save him in time."

"Don't say that, Dr. Negativity. He's going to be fine. We're going to make sure of that." Tony shot back, trying to remain as optimistic as possible. Clint wasn't dead. Not yet, and if the billionaire could help it, not ever – even if Tony had to bring Clint back from the dead. "Okay, so I have a theory."

"Let's hear it." Bruce dropped into the chair next to his partner in crime.

"Hidden panel." Tony announced, "I'm going to look at the lab's refrigerator again, maybe there's some hidden part in the wall where he keeps the antidotes."

"You still think Conroy kept the antidotes around here?" Bruce asked, hope leaking into his weary voice.

Tony nodded, moving across the lab to the far wall and pulling open the refrigerator's door. "He'd have to. The bastard seems like the paranoid type. He picked _Clint _out of a crowd and realized he was being followed in a threatening way. Barton knows his shit, someone like Conroy shouldn't have realized what was happening until the end." Morbidly Tony drew a line over his neck with his thumb, as if it were a knife slitting his throat.

"You're right." Bruce agreed, joining the other man on the other side of the room to offer what help he could.

Tony reached in the small space and tapped along the back wall until he heard a hallow thud. "There, it's behind here." He nodded to Bruce, "Get me something to pry it open."

"Wait, there has to be a way to open it. The way it was intended. If we open it wrong, the antidote might be compromised."

With a frustrated sigh, Tony nodded. Banner was right. Yes, the billionaire was becoming impatient and Clint didn't have time to waste, but rushing things might mean the archer's death. They had to tread lightly. No matter how hard it was not to break down the wall to get to the cure.

The two looked for a lever, button, a keypad – anything that opened up the back of the refrigerator naturally.

"Do you see anything?" Bruce asked desperately. The silence upstairs was definitely not a good sign. Barton had been pale, but enraged when Bruce had left them. Shouting loudly, pulling at his newly secured restraints.

Footsteps on the stairs stole the scientists attentions away from their task. Bruce's heart dropped at the look on Steve's too pale face. "Is he?"

"He's not." Tony interrupted, sounding furious. "I won't allow it."

It was amazing how Tony could be like that. Talk with such conviction, as if he really could control the situation by saying it couldn't happen. Bruce wished he felt that confident.

"He's not dead." Steve told them. "Not yet, anyway. His breathing sounds bad and he's fallen unconscious. I don't think he has much longer." The super soldier dropped his shoulders in defeat. "I wanted to see if I could help out down here. Have you found anything?"

"We think we know where the antidote might be, but it's in a hidden panel and we can't find how to open it." Bruce updated their team leader easily as Tony turned to continue the search.

Steve sighed and leaned wearily against the bookcase next to him, his shoulder knocked into some of the novels on the shelf and suddenly a loud click filled the room. All three of the men waited wide eyed for something to explode. Conroy had decorated his lab with numerous booby-traps that Tony had skillfully disarmed.

"Did we miss – " Bruce started, but stopped when Tony let out a strange noise, turning to look just in time to see the panel opening.

"Yes! Captain Awesome saves the day!" Tony cheered loudly, sticking his head further into the cool box to get a better look at the vials inside. It took only a minute for Stark to locate the one they wanted. "Here it is!" He snatched the bottle and passed it to Bruce to look over. "Let's get it up to the good old bird-breath and – "

Bruce sighed, face clouded with worry as he studied the writing printed on the side of the small vial.

"What?" Tony growled, all cheer gone from his voice. "It says 'The Titanic' on the side, that is the stuff. What's with the face? Be happy, that's the cure!" The billionaire all but stomped his foot on the ground.

Steve stepped forward, still wondering how he managed to open the panel by leaning on a bookcase. "Doctor, what's wrong?"

Bruce shook his head and looked up at his friends. "Conroy has apparently never perfected this antidote."

"What?" Steve and Tony said in unison. Steve sounding faint and Tony sounding pissed off.

"How could he not perfect it? Why even have it in there if it doesn't work?" Tony hissed bitterly.

Steve reached out and grasped Stark's shoulder in a comforting way, eyes fixed on Bruce. "What does it say? Will it work or not?"

"It has a fifty percent chance of flushing Clint's system," Bruce shook his head and wrote down a number on a yellow stripped page of paper. "I'm going to look this up on Conroy's computer, maybe get some more information. We should know more about this before we show it to Natasha."

"You don't want to get her hopes up?" Steve asked, though to Bruce it sounded more like a statement. The doctor simply nodded as he sat down at the computer and started to type.

* * *

Upstairs things had grown tense. Natasha sat on the edge of Barton's bed, muscles tight with stress, eyes fixed carefully on Clint's grey tinted face. Every breath was a struggle for the archer, the sound he made was painful to the Russian's ears. Her heart bleed for him. She loved him, even if she could never say it out loud.

Now he was dying, possibly with no cure.

Her phone rang and Natasha answered it before the first tone finished sounding. "Speak to me." She barked, her voice hinting ever so subtly towards desperation.

"_Romanoff," _It was Director Fury. "_How's Barton doing?" _

Concern, it wasn't a normal emotion for the director of SHIELD to showcase, not even to his most trusted agents.

"Not good, tell me SHIELD has found a solution." Natasha kept her voice emotionless and even. Throughout this whole entire mess Natasha and Steve had been in contact with SHIELD as the scientists worked to find a cure for Clint's current condition.

There was a pause, hesitation. Natasha's heart dropped.

"_I'm afraid I don't have any good news." _Nick informed his agent. "_I sent a jet as soon as you called it in, it should be arriving in the next three hours. I think once he's here and under SHIELD's medical care he'll have a better chance of survival. A med-team is on the transport, they've been prepped on Barton's condition." _

Survival. Natasha nodded faintly. "Yes, sir. I will inform the others. We're should we meet up with the jet?"

"_Local airstrip, Stark will be able to transport Barton there when the time comes, right?"_

"He has his suit." Natasha confirmed.

"_Good." _Fury concluded. "_He's going to be fine, Romanoff. We'll find him a cure, even if we have to put him on ice while we search." _

When the conversation was over, Natasha didn't feel any better. They still had no answers, no clear way to save him. Clint could still be lost to them.

Turning back to the bed Natasha reached out to touch her partner's forehead only to remember what pain simple contact caused him.

Footsteps on the stairs behind her drew her eyes away from Clint's face. Suddenly she felt cold as the three men entered the room. "Did you find it?" She asked bluntly, not moving from where she sat by her partner's side.

"Sort of." Tony offered, his voice was subdued.

Natasha's eyes narrowed, zeroed in on Bruce as she waited for the doctor to explain.

Banner didn't need to be told, he simple stepped forward and began to speak. "We found Conroy's antidotes, unfortunately no all of them were perfected. The Titanic was one of those incomplete."

Panic spread into Natasha at the doctor's words. "So, there's no way to save him." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she spoke, her eyes sliding back to the hawk's frail form.

"Not completely." Bruce took another step closer. "Conroy developed a cure that had a fifty percent chance of working. However, if we give it to Clint it might seal his fate. He's already so weak."

Bruce shook his head and continued to explain. "I've read over the tests Conroy ran. He injected a few homeless men and women with the poison and gave them the cures at different stages. The ones given the cure within the first two hours of being infected by the poison made full recoveries."

The doctor sighed again. "The longer he waited after that the harsher the antidote was on their systems. In his notes, Conroy surmised that the antidote had shortened the victims' lifespans. He also said it was a more humane way for the test subjects to die."

There was a long pause following Bruce's information. Each of the Avengers looked at their fallen teammate with hopelessness. It seemed no matter what they tried, Clint was destined to die from this.

"If we do nothing," Natasha let the thought trail off. "Fury sent a medical team, they should be here under three hours." Her eyes snapped up to meet Bruce's gaze. "Does he have that long?"

Carefully Bruce handed Tony the vial of antidote and silently checked Clint over. When he was done the doctor shook his head. "His vitals are falling. I don't believe, at the rate things are progressing, that Clint has that much time. No."

"Then give him the antidote. It's the best chance he has." Natasha exhaled. "Besides," her eyes closed as she reached out and took her partner's cold hand. "Clint has a way of beating the odds."

Silently Bruce nodded, taking a moment to prepare the needle before injecting the antidote into Clint's arm.

"How long until we know?" Steve asked from the doorway.

Bruce looked up at Natasha then turned to the super soldier. "Soon."

* * *

_I've decided on one more chapter, mostly because I find that me dropping off the face of the planet is unfair to you guys. And I do love my readers and feel terrible that I've been MIA. (Damn design school and cruel teachers) I just don't have the time I'd like to write anymore. _

_That doesn't mean I'm not writing, however. Me and Lou-deadfroggy have been working in our little universe when we can, so Barton and Banner's adventures will be continuing. ^^ And hopefully I'll be able to write on my own some as well…but I doubt it. _

_Thanks for reading guys! _

_I appreciate and love each and every review and the reviewers. You guys are the best! _


	9. Chapter 9

_The final chapter. _

* * *

Riot Part Nine

It was a haze of pain mixed with ice and snow.

In his mind, Clint screamed in pain until his throat burned with fire. It kindled something within him, igniting a flame that threatened to eat him from the inside out.

He'd finally reached the point where he begged for death – for release into the painless darkness. No matter what words he choose, who he screamed to for forgiveness the end would not come.

The pain was too much, crippling. It held him down with barbed wire twisting around his soul. Replacing veins of blood with knives of agony and shooting fire.

Trapped in this world of torture Clint started to slip away.

For a while he drifted, floating in the calm waters of deep ocean. The pain was numbed, gone. The current pulled him along, gently guiding him from one place to another. Thoughts were gone, for the moment he simply existed.

Clint was cold, frozen, but starting to regain feeling once more. He shivered as his eyes fluttered open, breaking away from the darkness into too bright sunshine. Sunshine brought by…florescent lights? Where was he? Blinking Clint looked around his bright prison, trying to discover how much danger he was in.

"You're safe." A welcomed voice drifted to his sensitive ears. Clint's muscle's relaxed back into the comfort of the bed as Bruce came into sight. Natasha was there too, sound asleep in a chair next to the bed the archer was laid in.

"What happened?" Clint asked, or tried to. The sound got caught in the thorns embedded in his throat. At least it felt like thorns, thorns mixed with sand and gravel.

The doctor gave a sympathetic smile as Natasha stirred to the sound of their voices. Bruce held ha hand to silence Clint from trying to speak again. "Wait a minute, I'll get you some water." As Banner moved out of sight, Clint couldn't bring himself to follow the man's movements with his head, or his eyes. Barton was exhausted.

"Clint?" Natasha asked, voice fogged with sleep as she leaned closer to him. For a second Clint was sure she was going to kiss him, but the moment passed and Natasha moved back. "You're alive." She remarked, than smirked.

"Though you tried very hard not to be." Bruce added, helping Clint sit up and sip the glass of water he provided. "How are you feeling?" Banner continued, ever the doctor.

"Confused." Clint admitted when the water soothed the burn of his throat to the point where he could speak again. "What happened?"

Natasha and Bruce exchanged looks before Natasha spoke up. "What do you remember?"

"Answering a question with a question, well, that's not a good sign." Clint cleared his aching throat and sighed. Closing his eyes Clint thought back to his last conscious thought. It took longer than normal to zero in on the memory. "Something to do with Thor starting a fire in the den? Did the tower burn down?"

Banner sat down heavily in a chair and shook his head. "That's impressive." He spoke sarcastically. "You've managed to lose two weeks of memory."

"What?" Clint straightened a bit on his bed. "What happened?"

"You were poisoned." Natasha, one could always count on the redhead's bluntness. "You almost died."

"You did die. A couple times, but we brought you back. The antidote was a little shaky. You've been out for a few days."

Barton took a minute to absorb his loss. Two weeks of his memories gone. "Will I ever remember?" He asked Bruce carefully.

"Maybe, maybe not. Honestly I don't think you want to. I don't want to, but unfortunately I don't have a choice." Banner stood. "I'll let Natasha fill you in on the details. I know a few people who will be glad to know you're awake, and fully functional." Bruce tapped his forehead to emphasis what he meant before ducking out of the room.

Clint stared after the doctor for a moment before turning back to his partner. "Nat, what happened?"

Slowly, but surely Natasha gave a detailed account of his missing time. Of course there were still missing pieces, she could only tell him her side of the story.

When she was finished Clint remained silent, staring at his bandaged wrist. "I tried to kill myself?"

"You tried to get rid of the poison. You thought it was in your blood because of how cold it made you feel." Natasha tried to explain. Forcing the memory from her mind. "We stopped you. You're going to be fine. There was no real damage."

"I don't remember any of that. Not even a little bit." Clint whispered in awe. "I threatened to kill you?"

"You were tied to a bed being tortured by your own senses, we don't hold it against you." Natasha sat on the edge of the bed and shrugged a shoulder. "Trust me, Clint. You don't want to remember. Not even a little bit."

"I still feel cold." Clint told her as he met her gaze with his own.

The redhead frowned mutely, letting her eyes drop from her partner's face down to his hand. Slowly she reached out and gently took it in her own. "Does that hurt you?" She asked sharply, eyes watching Clint for a reaction. What kind of reaction Clint wasn't sure.

"Uh, no. You're barely touching me." It was Clint's turn to frown.

A smile spread across Natasha's face, "Then you're okay." She promised, seeming happy for some reason. Odd.

"Okay." Clint shrugged, "I guess I'll just have to take your word for it."

"Yes, you will." Natasha's smile suddenly vanished and her fist shot out and gently smacked the downed man upside his head.

"Hey! What was that for?" Clint demanded with a glare, rubbing where she had hit.

"For scaring me." The redhead stated firmly before pushing Clint. "Move over."

"Why?" The archer questioned lightly.

"You know why." Natasha glared. "I'm sick of sleeping in that damned chair."

Dutifully Clint scooted over giving her room to curl up against his side, using his chest as a pillow. "I'm glad you're not dead." She told him as his arm wrapped comfortably around her.

"I'm sorry I scared you." Clint offered softly.

Her eyes met his, her chin propped up on his chest as she looked at him. "I'm sorry I lost sight of you."

Clint just smiled back at her, eyes growing heavy with the lingering exhaustion left from his battle for life. "It's okay. I know it'll never happen again."

* * *

_Thanks so much for all who followed, favorited and especially those who reviewed for this story. I've gotten so many kind reviews and I've loved them all! Thanks guys! Hopefully this wont be my last solo story._

_In retrospect this would have been a nice addition to Leave the Lights On._

_I vaguely have an idea for a sequel…but there is no guarantees with me and sequels ^^ Plus I have limited time to write… _

_Thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoyed. _


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